


Challenges

by Miss M (missm)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ficlet, Marauders' Era, The Quidditch Pitch: School Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-16
Updated: 2007-12-16
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/pseuds/Miss%20M
Summary: All these years, and he had never attacked Britain.





	Challenges

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

'Will there be anything else, my lord?'  
  
Grindelwald glanced up. 'I beg your pardon? Oh, no, thank you.'  
  
The room was sumptuous: thick velvet curtains shaded the windows, soft carpets covered the floor, exquisite paintings adorned the walls. Two large mahogany chairs stood in front of the fire; a triangular sign ornamented each of their backs.   
  
'Are you sure, my lord?' The young man that had brought him the wine lingered at the door. His beauty was striking, although unconventional, his skin pale and clear in contrast to the red mane of hair. The front of his robe bore the same triangular sign. 'I would be pleased to be of service ...'  
  
'Yes, I am sure,' said Grindelwald irritably. 'No more of your services are required this evening. _Thank you_ , Thomas.'  
  
Alone once more, he scrutinised the short note.  
  
_I will be outside the eastern wall of Nurmengard tomorrow night, eight o'clock. I rely on your presence. Yours sincerely, Albus Dumbledore._   
  
Grindelwald's mouth twitched at the last line. He took a sip of his wine.  
  
So this was how his consideration was rewarded. Being no fool, he was perfectly aware of what the note meant. Obviously there could never be peace between them.   
  
All these years, and he had never attacked Britain.   
  
His forces had grown along with his power, and so had his territory. Scandinavia, Spain, the Balkan peninsula; everywhere countries had fallen. Of course, there were those who suggested that he go even further west, and of course, there were those who blamed his reluctance to do so on cowardice. This did not upset him; he was well above the insults of vermin. Besides, those who dared voice such opinions aloud soon found themselves face to face with an effective Killing Curse -- at least, the lucky ones did.  
  
No, his reasons had nothing to do with cowardice.   
  
The note still in his hand, he rose and walked to the window. He enjoyed the view, which was why he had chosen this tower for his personal chambers. The moon was full tonight, bathing the landscape in bright silver, forests and fields as long as the eyes could see, and all of it his. Tonight, however, he found himself unable to fully appreciate it.   
  
All these years, and he had willingly stayed away.   
  
It had been sentimental of him. Pathetic, even. He should have known that nothing would undo the damage of what Albus had perceived to be his cruel actions. _Cruel actions_ \-- what a soft-hearted, soft-headed phrase, so self-righteous in its whining! As if Albus himself had not believed that the value of every action must be judged against whether or not it served the greater good.   
  
He sighed, twirling the glass between his fingers. The end had come sooner than he would have liked. Of course, one might argue that the end had come years ago, but it hadn't really, not to him.   
  
'Why ever hesitate, my lord?' his former lieutenant had asked him. 'Britain will be an easy target. The Ministry of Magic are bureaucratic and ineffective, their resistance will be feeble.' The fellow's youthful optimism had been quite charming. A pity, to say the least, that he was locked up safely in Nurmengard's darkest cell, having tried to assemble an army with the purpose of making an invasion on his own.   
  
Grindelwald drained his glass, then tossed it into the fire with sudden impatience. Honestly, this was all too much. They would have to duel -- over what, exactly? Over some dead Muggles? How laughable! It was the damage done to his own kin that had caused Albus to turn away from him, after all.   
  
Walking to his desk, he pulled out his wand. The violent centuries of victories and defeats had not robbed it of its power, nor of its beauty. His fingers curled around slick wood, and he found himself smiling.   
  
Pen and parchment lay ready for him, and he had soon scribbled a short reply. 

_Dear A.D., I accept your challenge. I shall meet you tomorrow night as requested._

Here he paused, his body shaking with silent laughter, before adding, _Yours, as always, Gellert_. 

 


End file.
